


In a Moment I'm Lost

by TRASHCAKE



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: 00 Line Friendship, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Alternate Universe - Surfers, Alternate Universe - Tattoos, Daddy Issues, Family Drama, Graffiti, Gratuitous Metalcore References, Implied Onesided Hyuckmin, M/M, Melancholy, Mentions of Cancer, Slice of Life, minor character illness, side noren, street artists, writer mark
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-08-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 21:22:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20052748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TRASHCAKE/pseuds/TRASHCAKE
Summary: Donghyuck’s first love is the ocean. His second is Mark.





	1. Reflection Built Upon Sorrow

**Author's Note:**

> This is super personal, based on super real places and have echoes of super real conversations I've had with super real people. I guess what I'm saying is: this fic is fragile, please handle with care.
> 
> CW: very small amounts of blood, descriptions of piercings and the use of lancets to test blood sugar levels. Mentions of serious illness (breast cancer) and the symptoms of chemotherapy treatment. 
> 
> Title from: Carrion - Parkway Drive

Donghyuck is born to water by a woman of the waves.

The free spirit of his mother, the watchful eye of the midwife, his father’s thinly veiled disapproval. His first cry harmonises with the wails of the midwife’s own son, just a few months old, present in the room out of necessity and familiarity. 

Donghyuck’s life begins with the water, and he can say, with sincerity, that he’s known Renjun since the moment he was born. 

The other important people in Donghyuck’s life come to him with the waves. Jeno, while they both play at the beach. Four years old and sunburnt, the start of a friendship. Jaemin, at the cliffs nearby, the new kid in town who dives into the water without caution, nor fear.

Four boys on borrowed longboards, learning to surf on the weekends. Renjun swaps his board for a sketchbook, Jeno and Jaemin for their guitars, eyes set on stardom. Donghyuck swaps to a shortboard and is welcomed home by the waves. 

A summer baby, glowing brightly in the sun. He’s the kid who smells like salt, with sand perpetually in his hair. Tanlines from his wetsuit, board wax under his nails. The water is his element, his family, his love. 

His mother, supportive and proud, watches in awe as he follows her footsteps into the sea. She applauds every trick he lands on his skateboard, helps him wash the spray paint from his fingers once he finishes tagging the streets. 

His father thinks it’s cute. The surfing, the skateboard as a mode of transport, the scribbles he leaves on council fences with his friends in the darkness of night. He thinks it’s cute, until it’s not. 

Grow up, he says. Make a life for yourself, he insists. 

But Donghyuck is a child of the sea. 

And the waves will always be there to call him home. 

\------

Fresh wax on a new board; a ritual, a rite of passage. Donghyuck thinks he should treasure the moment a little more, but he’s anxious and eager to get out into the swell. 

The board, simple in design but decorated with an abstract depiction of the sun and the sea. Renjun will surely bitch at him later for ruining his design by adding wax on top of the resin sealant. His work is worth thousands, but Donghyuck’s a labour of love and more than entitled to the heavily discounted price he paid for the piece. 

Back fin dug into the sand, Donghyuck goes through the motions. Pushing himself into a squat, he positions his feet and marks the spot with a line of wax, adding layers as he rubs the bar over the surface and adds much-needed grip to the surface of his board.

The first session with a new board is always memorable, especially with one that means so much to Donghyuck. His best friend’s design, the ocean he loves so much. He smiles to himself as he works, the salty air a familiar burn at his nose.

His favourite beach is practically empty at the early hour, the sun has barely risen and the chill of the night still lingers in the wind. It suits Donghyuck just fine; he’s got somewhat of a reputation, and he’s going to ruin it while he learns how the new board manoeuvres around the swell. The fewer witnesses around while he eats shit in the waves, the better. 

Only one person joins him, a stranger whose appearance is as intriguing as it is surprising. Donghyuck’s favourite beach is a locals-only spot, far less populated than the tourist trap located just fifteen minutes up the road. He knows all the surfers in the area, has shared the waves with them for years. The new guy turns up with an expensive board he knows how to ride and navigates the waves like he’s known them for years. 

Donghyuck keeps his distance as he wades into the shallows, but keeps an eye out as he paddles his board past where his feet can touch the sand below. Pushing his board and body beneath the oncoming waves, Donghyuck takes the embrace of the sea until he’s far enough out to sit idly behind the swell. 

It’s not the best day for it, the wind slightly too strong. The waves peak and foam a little too quickly, breaking before they can form that perfect little curl. He manages, however, with small runs that help him break the board in. It’s lighter, a little more touchy than his old one. A thinner design with a little less bulk, it’s fast and flighty. 

Donghyuck is in love. 

He makes eye contact with the new guy as the tide draws them closer together. They don’t talk, but they offer nods of solidarity, brothers of the sea. They’ve got the same tan lines, star damaged skin under wetsuits. Peeks of ink on the stranger's biceps, matching the waves permanently on display on Donghyuck’s ankle. The sea calls to her children; Donghyuck and the stranger are the same. 

He heads in first with a nod and another wave. 

Donghyuck is left alone with the ocean he calls home. 

\------

Renjun’s Instagram account has more followers than people who live in their seaside town. He’s what people would call _famous_, a tattoo artist that lives up to his title. Donghyuck still remembers his anatomically inaccurate anime fan art from years ago, still has little caricatures of their friend group framed in his bedroom.

He doesn’t own the tattoo parlour that he works in, but he’s the senior artist of the staff. Renjun has been doing tattoos far longer than he’s been legally allowed to; stick and pokes and eBay bought guns detailing the first works in his portfolio. 

Of course, Donghyuck and the others have been his living, breathing sketchbooks since the moment Renjun decided on a career path. They’re on the receiving end of free touch-ups of bad home-jobs ever since, with Jeno dedicating his entire body to Renjun’s art; a walking portfolio, a timeline of stylistic changes and improvement inked into skin. 

It’s Donghyuck’s day off, so he’s decided to bother Renjun at work. He enters the shop, familiar scent of disinfectant and ink hitting his nose. Yukhei greets him from the front counter, looking up from his phone for a moment before going right back to it. 

“He’s got a chest piece booked for today, then more work on Jeno,” he says, scrolling through what appears to be Instagram. 

“Can I go in?” Donghyuck looks around the shop, observing the new flash pieces available on the wall. Renjun gets bored easily, likes to change things up as often as possible. 

“No,” Yukhei deadpans. “He’s with a new guy.” 

Regulars know Donghyuck, are usually people he’s been seeing in the surf or at concerts for years. On occasion, they’re people who Donghyuck can call a friend. No one really minds when he interrupts their session to bother Renjun. 

“You free, then?” 

Yukhei raises a pierced eyebrow. “What do you want done?” 

He’s their piercer, the person responsible for nearly every hole in their local music scene. Between septums and snakebites, Yukhei attends to the teenagers looking for some eye candy along with their helix piercing. 

“Nose?” Donghyuck questions as he looks along the sample piercings on the counter. “I’d look cute with a nose ring.” 

“One condition,” Yukhei holds up a finger, pulling back the consent form from Donghyuck’s eager hands. “Don’t be like Jeno and actually clean yours, alright?” 

Donghyuck wrinkles his nose, an action that he’ll have to refrain from in the coming days. Jeno’s infected septum piercing still on his mind, he tries to remember if he’s still got the cleaning spray he needs at home. 

“Deal.” 

Form signed, gold ring picked. Donghyuck inhales and winces on the exhale as Yukhei pushes the needle through skin. It doesn’t hurt as much as his conch piercing did, but the pinch is still sharp enough to have his eyes watering. 

“I won’t make fun of you for crying,” Yukhei assures, threading the ring through Donghyuck’s nose. It hurts more than the initial piercing did, his face twisted in a grimace. “It’s, like, a natural reaction for your eyes to water.” 

“Appreciated,” Donghyuck accepts a wad of tissues, dabs at his eyes as Yukhei cleans the small bubble of blood from his nose with a Q-Tip. 

“You took that like a champ,” he says, offering a hand to Donghyuck and pulling him up from the table. “If you’re feeling okay, we can go back out? I think I heard the bell.”

“I’m okay.”

Donghyuck steals a handful of candy from the piercing room’s jar before he leaves. 

Unsurprisingly, it’s Jeno in the waiting room, legs crossed as he sits on the couch, his right shin shaved and ready. Renjun has been working on a dotwork portrait of death for a few weeks now, something the right size and aesthetic for Jeno’s leg. It makes sense, now, all the extra effort Renjun has been putting into his piece. 

“Can I sit in?” Donghyuck asks, collapsing, not on the seat but on Jeno’s lap instead. He’s met with a grunt and an effortless attempt to push him off. “I’m bored.” 

“Since when have I said no?” Jeno pushes his face and Donghyuck cries out, his piercing still fresh and tender. 

“Watch the nose, fuckface,” he grumbles, pressing a finger to the base of the ring. “Yukhei? Buddy? I’m bleeding.” 

Yukhei cackles, reaching for an alcohol wipe. 

\------

Four years out of high school and their specific brand of chaos is still the same. Their home is either a big town or a small city, and either way, the entertainment options are limited. They surf, they skate, they tag walls. Jeno and Jaemin play in local gigs every other month. Sometimes they end up at the tiny cinema on the main strip; rostered films outdated and already watched illegally on their terrible internet. 

It’s stagnant but not unenjoyable, and they pass the time with body modifications while never quite growing up. 

Jeno munches on a sandwich from his work, the best cafe in town and part of the tourist hub at the city centre. Donghyuck visits from time to time, takes advantage of the staff discount and bothers Jeno and Jaemin on shift before heading to his own. 

“You tested your levels, yet?” Donghyuck reminds him. 

Jeno shakes his head, pulls his blood sugar monitor from his bag, continues with the conversation as if nothing has happened. He’s like this, the type to be incredibly nonchalant with his illness. Jeno tests his blood and administers his Insulin without care, and it’s a sight that both Donghyuck and Yukhei are used to.

It’s a far cry from the Jeno of his youth, who hid away or went without. He learnt his lesson; young, reckless and rushed to the hospital.

“Lemme,” Donghyuck makes a grabbing motion at the lancet. 

Jeno hands it over, offers a finger and barely reacts when the needle pierces his skin. Blood smeared onto the testing strip, a beep from the machine, a 6.1 displayed on the LED screen. 

Perfect. 

“I’ve been keeping an eye on it,” Jeno admits. If his levels are too high, his tattoo might not heal properly. If they’re too low he might pass out. Half the reason he’s so pedantic about his levels is his love for body mods, much to the chagrin of his parents.

“I’m proud of you,” Donghyuck coos, pressing a wet kiss to Jeno’s cheek. Yukhei laughs at Jeno’s disgusted grimace and the commotion is interrupted by the opening of Renjun’s door.

“I thought I smelt nonsense,” he rolls his eyes, motioning for his client to stand in front of the flash art wall. It’s the background for all his Instagram shots, where the new guy will inevitably end up.

A dotwork mandala, an eye as the centrepiece. Lines resembling stylised sun shooting off towards collarbones. The new guy in Renjun’s client list is a familiar face; the stranger with whom Donghyuck shared the waves. 

“That’s gonna rub something awful until it heals,” Jeno points out, the familiarity of his tone a surprise to Donghyuck. “And I don’t think they’re gonna let you go shirtless at work.” 

“I’ll deal,” the new guy shrugs. The motion shifts the ink, Renjun’s art contorting along his chest. 

“We work together,” Jeno supplies, “at the cafe.” 

“I’m just passing through, really,” he shrugs again. Renjun tuts at him from behind his iPhone, scolding him for moving. “Mark, by the way. I’d shake your hand, but…” 

“You’re in the middle of a photoshoot and we don’t shake hands here?” Donghyuck replies. Jeno stifles a laugh. He likes Jeno, truly. He’s one of the few people that laughs at his jokes. 

Turns out that Mark does, too, because his shoulders shake and Renjun shoots Donghyuck with a glare. 

“Stop that.” 

“I can’t help it if Mark is taken with my natural charms,” Donghyuck says, posing dramatically. He’s half on the couch and half on Jeno’s lap, but this time when he’s pushed away, his new piercing is out of the firing line. “I can’t exactly blame him.” 

“What do you mean by _passing through_,” Yukhei drawls, chin propped up on his hands. “You one of those soul searching types?” 

“An author looking for his muse,” Mark laughs. Renjun exclaims in frustration and locks his phone. “So I guess you could say that.”

“Cute,” Donghyuck coos, tilting his head and observing Mark. He’s handsome, got some nice ink. Dark hair that falls into his eyes, textured by leftover salt from his early morning surf. He’s attractive and he’ll leave, eventually. Just Donghyuck’s type. “How long until you go?” 

“Whenever I have the money to.”

So, he’s like that, then. One of the aimless travellers, driving until his money runs out, working until he has enough to continue his journey.

Renjun has a hand on Mark’s shoulder, trusty phone whipped out again and aimed close. He holds Mark still as he gets the shots he’s after, adamant that the piece ends up on his feed. 

“He’s got a few more plans with me, so that might take a while,” Renjun adds his input. “The cafe pays well but not _that_ well.” 

“So I should get used to seeing you in my spot?” Donghyuck raises an eyebrow. “How’d you find out about that, anyway?” 

Renjun raises his hand, eyes still focused on his phone. “That was me.” 

“Traitor,” Donghyuck huffs. 

“Hey, he asked for a good spot and I delivered,” Renjun pockets his phone with finality and gestures for Mark to put on his shirt. “We’re all about customer service, here.” 

Yukhei opens his mouth. Renjun glares. “If you make _one_ joke about _servicing_ a customer, I’ll fire you.” 

His mouth closes, inappropriate comment halted in his tracks. 

He does, however, make a jerking-off gesture to Jeno and Donghyuck as they follow Renjun into the back room. 

“I saw that,” Renjun says, airily. 

Donghyuck can’t help but laugh.

\------

Jeno’s tattoo takes the better part of the afternoon to complete, which aligns perfectly with the end of Jaemin’s closing shift. Plastic wrap protecting the new ink, he trails behind Donghyuck and Renjun on his board, not quite able to decide if he should use the tattooed leg as stability or propulsion. 

“Keep up,” Renjun calls out. 

He’s a sight to behold. Flowing black clothes from some indie, androgynous online brand, something code for _expensive_ and _shapeless_. The style suits him, though, his heavily tattooed skin peeks out from beneath the hems. Locals are used to him, the tattoos under his eyes he got to resemble a video game character. The tourists give him a wide berth, feeling that he’s more trouble than he’s worth. 

Donghyuck follows along, zips through the gaps created by Renjun’s path. Jeno finds his footing and brings up the rear. 

“Where are we meeting Jaemin?” he calls out as he draws closer. 

“Seawall,” Renjun has the innate ability to use his phone while skateboarding, something Donghyuck can’t do without eating pavement. “He just messaged me.” 

The seawall along the coast is a regular spot for the four of them, and has been since their early teenage years. The bricks have seen much of their art over the years, periodically scrubbed clean and painted over by disgruntled council workers. 

Jaemin sits, feet dangling off the edge, his board propped up against the wall. He’s got a coffee sitting next to him, the last one of the day, the pink of his hair glowing under the light of the setting sun. He scribbles away in a notebook, something so customarily Jaemin. 

They don’t exchange greetings as they take their seats beside him, legs swinging over the wall and the tide that slowly rises. Jeno steals the notebook, fingering his way through notes in the air, mimes his instrument in intense concentration. 

“That breakdown is _sick_,” he breathes, handing the notebook back once he’s done. “I’m into it.” 

They live in a seaside town filled with surfers and retirees, one frequented by tourists in search of the sun. But in the underbelly, a scene has grown. The youth bleed metalcore, the few live venues in town spend their Saturday nights amassed with circle pits, hearts beating in time with the double kick. 

Jeno and Jaemin’s band has relative success in the scene. They’re upcoming, more than anything, a more recent addition. For so long it’s just been Jeno and his bass, Jaemin and his guitar. Yukhei’s unclean vocals are a pleasant surprise, as are their rhythm guitarist and drummer, Jisung and Chenle. 

Together they’re _Beyond the Martyrs_, and all things considered, they’re pretty good. 

Their tracks produced by Jeno at his tech school, they’re barely making money on Spotify streams, just a few dollars total over the past years. But they’re getting noticed and that’s what counts. 

Renjun says he’ll design their merch, but only if they can land a record deal. 

“How was work?” Donghyuck asks, stealing a sip of Jaemin’s coffee. It’s awful, but he’s thirsty from the skate over so it will have to do. They’ll talk shit until the sun sets, then argue about which fast-food chain they should eat for dinner. 

By this point it’s routine. 

“Same as always,” Jaemin shrugs. He’s still wearing his work shirt, stained with coffee grinds and old milk. 

“You worked with Mark, yet?” 

“Donghyuck, _no_,” Jeno groans, burying his head in his hands. Renjun mutters a quiet ‘I knew it’, taking a photo of his feet over the water. The juxtaposition of the black shoes, tattoos and the orange glow reflected on the surface will look stunning. 

“You’ve met him?” Jaemin asks, curiously. “I was gonna introduce you, actually.” 

“He,” Jeno jerks a thumb in Donghyuck’s direction, “was flirting with Mark at Renjun’s shop, earlier.” 

“Not my shop,” Renjun replies, snapping another photo. 

“_Not_ the point,” Jeno rolls his eyes. “I like Mark, and I’d like to keep being friends with him when he leaves.” 

“I’m not stopping you,” Donghyuck reclines, hands braced behind the wall. He tries, desperately, to catch the last fleeting rays of the setting sun. 

“He’s a nice guy,” Jaemin adds, “which automatically means he’s too good for Hyuck, anyway.” 

“Fight me,” Donghyuck bites, playfully. “If anything, I’m too good for him.” 

“You keep telling yourself that,” Renjun mocks, while ushering the group into the frame of his iPhone’s camera. Another stylistic addition to his Instagram feed, one that will bring more followers to all of their accounts. 

Charity work, Renjun calls it. Sharing his fame with those less fortunate and artistically inclined. 

They pose, dutifully, until Renjun is happy with the result. Golden oranges bleed into soft pinks before the sun fades from the horizon. Cold and hungry, they skate towards the nearest fast food place in search of warmth and burgers. 

It’s all part of the routine.

\------

If there is one kind of water that Donghyuck can’t stand, it’s tears. He’s seen too many and shed even more. 

Donghyuck gets home and his mother is crying. Not for the first time, and not for the last, he unlocks the front door to be welcomed with sobs. 

It’s Tuesday. Chemotherapy Day. Tuesdays are always harder than not, the weekly treatment taking its toll on the whole family. Donghyuck makes himself scarce on Chemotherapy Day, because he can’t stand the tears or the emotional upheaval that they cause. 

“You’re late.”

Donghyuck often wonders how his parents ended up together. His mother, so kind-hearted and free. His father, local council member, so devoid of joy it’s suffocating. He has to wonder if there’s even any love left, or if they’re just together for the convenience of it all. 

“I was out with friends,” Donghyuck drops his bag by the door, toes the shoes from his feet. 

“As you are every week.” 

Anger is often seen as an active thing; loud voices, thrown punches, bruises and marks on skin. But Donghyuck has been raised under aggression that’s passive, disappointed, condescending. His father isn’t an awful man, but sometimes he’s just so _awful_ to Donghyuck. 

“It’s hard, dad,” Donghyuck sighs. It’s cold at night, being so close to the beach. He wants to wrap himself up in a blanket and forget the world. 

“You think it’s not hard on me?” he hisses, “or God forbid, your _mother_?” 

“Dad---” 

“Keep it,” he shakes his head. “Have you thought over what we talked about? My friend needs an answer.” 

Donghyuck is a jack of all trades; works shop at the local surf store and sometimes teaches the lessons they offer to tourists. His father tries to get him into solid, _honest_ work on occasion, failing miserably when he suggests that Donghyuck takes to mowing council lawns in his spare time. 

“I don’t want to,” Donghyuck shrugs him off, trying to push his way past. He’s stopped by a hand on his arm. 

“You’re ruining your life,” he hisses, “what are you doing apart from---” 

His father is cut off by a call of his name, his mother requesting water to ease the nausea. Donghyuck sees him out, takes it with hurried steps. 

He offers his mother a tight-lipped smile as he passes, barely glancing in her direction. It hurts to see her like this; sunken face and colourful wrap around her bald head. He’s aware he’s being selfish, that his actions just add to the emotional toll of his family. 

But walling things off and ignoring problems is what Donghyuck does best. 

He reaches his room, making sure to lock the door behind him. 

\------

Donghyuck’s parents go to bed early; sleeping after dinner and rising with the sun. It must be a generational thing, because Donghyuck knows it’s time for him to sleep when he hears his father in the kitchen at four o’clock in the morning. 

He wishes it were possible to surf at night. Lonely tranquillity, just Donghyuck, the moon and the waves. Issues with visibility, with sharks, with the cold. They’re all things that stop him from taking his board with him as he leaves through the window of his bedroom. He can’t surf but he _can_ walk, and a midnight stroll along the shoreline should be enough to clear his head. 

Shoes are optional, an inherited hatred of footwear taken from his mother. The gravel and asphalt barely register under calloused soles, Donghyuck traversing the few streets that separate him from the ocean. The few street lights lining the pavement serve to illuminate his path. 

The tang of salt air stings against the skin of Donghyuck’s face. But he welcomes it, embraces it, breathes it deep into his lungs. His mother’s little mermaid, the ocean baby with saltwater in his veins. 

It takes Donghyuck a few minutes to realise he’s crying. 

Everything he loves is an inheritance of passion. From art to surfing, the vegetarian options on restaurant menus. He’s an image of his mother from her youth; wild and free, painting the town with the colours he sees at sunrise. 

She’s sick. 

There’s a huge, undeniable possibility that she might not see the end of her treatment. Donghyuck might lose his mother, the woman who gave him to the sea. The days she spent suffering all in vain as she succumbs to illness in the end. 

Donghyuck is a coward. 

He runs, hides away, wanders the shoreline on lonely nights. He withdraws, reduces their contact to the bare minimum and answers her questions with single worded responses. It’s a measure to ensure his survival, in case things go wrong. 

Watching from the sidelines is hard, but losing her would be agony. 

Donghyuck is selfish, Donghyuck is a coward but Donghyuck does what he does to protect himself. 

If he doesn’t know what he’s losing, there will be nothing to miss when she’s gone. 

\------

A lighthouse marks the farthest end of the coastline, jutting out from jagged rocks along the cliff face. Donghyuck washes the sand from his feet and follows the path leading away from the ocean. The climb is difficult, the incline steep, but Donghyuck feels a little more alive once he reaches the top.

He’s not alone. 

During the day, the lighthouse is popular with tourists. At night it’s abandoned, with only the waves crashing against the rocks and the light shining out to sea. But Mark seems to come back to Donghyuck like the tides below them, constant meetings since his arrival in town. 

“You up for some company?” He asks, but sits down anyway. 

The metal bench is cold, the breeze only amplifying it. Donghyuck pulls the cuffs of his sweater down over his fingers, huddles his knees to his chest in search of warmth. 

“You’re not wearing shoes,” Mark points out. He doesn’t greet Donghyuck, just accepts his presence without question. “Is that a thing here? I’ve noticed that it’s a thing.” 

“Shoes get too sandy,” Donghyuck rests his chin across his folded arms, looks out across the ocean. The moon isn’t quite full, so the visibility is awful. Occasionally, he can see the whites of the waves as they break along the rocks. “I’m always at the beach so I don’t need them.” 

Silence. Mark sighs. 

“You sound off,” he says. Mark doesn’t look at Donghyuck, his eyes, too, trained on the ocean. “I mean, I don’t know you well, but I can tell that something is wrong.” 

“Am I that obvious?” 

Mark shoots him a small smile. “A little,” he says, “and I bet you won’t tell me why.” 

“Correct,” Donghyuck hugs his legs a little tighter, wiggles his toes in an attempt to find warmth. “You’ve gotta reach level five in friendship ranks before you unlock my tragic backstory.” 

“How can I level up?” 

He’s so sincere that Donghyuck is taken aback. Genuine, thoughtful, Mark honestly wants to get to know him.

Donghyuck wants to get to know him, too. 

“Tell me about that book you’re writing,” he mumbles, the sleeves of his sweater muffling the sound. “Or is that _your_ level five friendship perk?” 

“I’m still trying to find a plot,” Mark leans back against with a sigh. Their shoulders brush. “I mean, I have a vague idea, but nothing solid as yet.” 

“You should talk about it,” Donghyuck has the urge to rest his head on Mark’s shoulder, but that’s not their level of friendship, not yet. “Maybe bouncing things off me will help?” 

“I could say the same for you and your problems.” 

“You could, but you won’t,” Donghyuck fiddles with the sleeves of his sweater. “C’mon, Mister Author, tell me a bedtime story.”

Mark talks about mermaids and tragic love, the rich history of a fictional person born from his mind. The starlight catches in his eyes and they twinkle; shining with passion as he speaks about his own labour of love. 

It’s enthralling, the way Mark speaks, his love for the characters he’s created. There’s no plot, yet, something still to be written. But the characters and their backstories are wonderful, and Donghyuck can’t wait to read about them and their own little world. 

“I’ll need a signed copy when you’re done,” he says. 

Mark laughs, promises him the first one. 

The sunrise bleeds into the horizon. 

Donghyuck doesn’t want to leave. 

\------

Sneaking into Donghyuck’s house is harder than sneaking out. With the early hours of the morning, Donghyuck’s parents are awake and milling about. It’s not quite so easy to pretend that he’s been sleeping. 

He takes his board from the garage, trying to make as little noise as possible. He’s almost certain that he’s alerted his father with the commotion, with the sound of his skateboard on the pavement outside, but he hopes that it seems like he’s just woken up, and not having been out all night. 

Mark has promised to meet Donghyuck at his spot, more surfing in the early hours of the morning. They’ve spoken until the sunrise, about everything and anything, yet nothing at all. Donghyuck feels like he knows Mark better, but still knows very little about him. It’s a strange situation to be in; attraction, confusion, familiarity. 

He knows about Mark’s book but not his favourite colour. The way he takes his eggs but not his mother’s name. Donghyuck understands why he chose his surfboard but not why he travels the coastline, searching for a muse that might not come. 

Donghyuck, however, does know that he thinks Mark is gorgeous. He’s funny, handsome and kind. He’s the type of boy he’d bring home to his mother, were she in the physical shape for company. Mark is dangerous, but he sees that danger in Donghyuck, too. 

They keep their distance. 

But they’re like magnets, the ocean and the shore. Donghyuck is drawn to Mark in ways he cannot describe, can’t go without touching him, nor being near him and the feeling seems to be mutual. 

Even when at home in the ocean, the tide draws them close enough to touch, their shared oceanic mother declaring that they are one. Mark is maddening, infuriating, driftwood in a riptide. He’s meant to say yet destined to leave and Donghyuck is enamoured. 

It’s been a day, twenty-four hours since they’ve met. Donghyuck has always had the problem of becoming too attached, then running away. Ocean tides on sandy shores. 

But Mark, he’s something different. 

He runs, he drifts, he’s the sea; just like Donghyuck. He doesn’t stay stagnant, he moves, water along sand. He’s a fellow wave, destined to curl and crash, combine with Donghyuck and create something bigger than they can imagine. 

Mark is dangerous. 

But Donghyuck doesn’t fear danger, no, he embraces it. 

He’s ready for the chaos that Mark is set to deliver. 

\------

Few cafes offer vegetarian breakfasts like the one Mark works at. Egg white scramble with mushroom, sourdough bread, in-house sauce on the side. When he’s not at home, it’s Donghyuck’s favourite place to eat, somewhere that caters to his choices when it comes to food. 

The staff discount doesn’t hurt, either. Jaemin enters his code, raises an eyebrow, says nothing more. He knows both their orders by heart, both due to familiarity and fondness. Mark pays, claims Donghyuck will be the one spending his hard-earned cash the next time around. 

His heart beats double at the thought of a repeat. 

Surfing, breakfast, talking all night. Mark is easy to get along with, the kind of connection he hasn’t felt since Renjun, all those years ago. 

“Vegetarian, huh?” Mark shovels bacon into his mouth, glances inquisitively at Donghyuck. 

“Raised as one,” he offers that much and nothing more. “It’s a habit at this point.” 

“Not a vegan?” 

“Around these parts, we have organic farms,” Donghyuck informs him. “I avoid milk where I can, but eggs are usually excess and from free-range hens.” 

The cafe’s eggs are supplied by the same man who sells them to his mother, a kindly old gentleman with an affinity for hens. He treats them like his children, gives them a good life and boundless acres to roam across. 

Donghyuck remembers his childhood, searching through the farmland for eggs, taking them home and enjoying the love that seems to be embedded within them. 

He’s not so pedantic about it, not like his mother. But vegan alternatives are a habit, something he’s used to. His first and only cheeseburger made him vomit into the McDonald’s bushes, an experience he doesn’t want to repeat. 

His stomach just isn’t used to meat, and so he avoids it. 

It’s as simple as that. 

Mark doesn’t mock, nor taunt the bacon on his plate under Donghyuck’s nose. It smells incredible, knows the animals lived a good life before slaughter, the origin of their farm a similar place to the source of their eggs. But he knows the meat will make his stomach churn, and settles for watching Mark enjoy his meal instead. 

“Are we friends?” Mark asks, mopping the plate of grease and sauce with a section of toast. “I feel like we’re friends, now.” 

“Level up,” Donghyuck replies, offering a smile that’s returned. He can feel Jaemin watching them from the front counter. “You’re now a third stage friend.” 

“I’ve skipped second?” there’s a smear of egg at the corner of Mark’s lip. Donghyuck mops it up with a napkin. 

“Yeah,” he breathes, ignoring the pounding of his heart. “You skipped to phase two the second you showed up in my spot.” 

“How long until I unlock the full Donghyuck experience?” 

“Buy me breakfast again sometime,” he says. It feels like he’s asking for a date. He’s not. He is. Donghyuck is confused. “Then I’ll consider it.” 

“Tomorrow?” 

“Too soon,” Donghyuck says. They’ve walked and talked, hands brushing as they wander the streets. Finally at his doorstep, he makes a decision. He’s terrified, he’s intrigued, he wants to dive headfirst into the unknown depths of _something_ with Mark.  
“Ask me later, though, and I’ll say yes.” 

“There’s something about you---” 

Donghyuck cuts Mark off, presses a finger to his lips. “Don’t,” he says. “It’s still too soon.” 

“I’ll save it, then,” Mark mumbles against his finger. “Until you’re ready to hear it.” 

“Will I ever be ready?” He wonders aloud. 

“I hope you will be,” and Mark smiles, that gorgeous sunshine grin that has Donghyuck swooning. 

He doesn’t reply, doesn’t trust his mouth and his heart. 

“Level up,” he says, once Mark is gone. Reminds himself what he’s committed to. 

He’s dangerous. A larger than usual swell, a hidden riptide. Mark has the potential to drown him, yet Donghyuck is getting ready to swim.


	2. We're Walking the Darkest Roads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did y'all see the lovely art Miss Silvia drew of IAMIL Hyuck? If not, go check it out [here!](https://twitter.com/yaori94/status/1156631499170549760?s=20)

Renjun’s newest obsession is Mandalas, so he draws up a piece that suits Donghyuck and the littering of art beginning to form on his legs. A new work of art, one for his calf, a design that represents the waves, the seashells Donghyuck used to collect as a child. 

Free work, a portfolio addition, something to practice his skills. Yukhei makes another hole in his ear while he waits, and Renjun huffs in annoyance, sending Donghyuck out for food before he comes back for his ink. 

He runs into Jeno on the way. 

“I just finished my shift,” he says, peering at his blood sugar monitor. 6.4. A little higher than normal but still okay. “I’m gonna sit in on your session.” 

“I do it to you all the time,” Donghyuck shrugs while chewing on his half of a sandwich. A gift from Jeno, something he knew Donghyuck would need in advance. 

He’s good like that. 

“I’m running out of space,” Jeno gestures to himself, the ink covering his skin. “Soon he’ll have no use for me.” 

“You know that’s not true.” 

Jeno and Renjun have a complicated relationship, but it’s only tumultuous and unfulfilling because they’re too stubborn to work on it. Jeno pines openly, Renjun secretly. Donghyuck is the only one who knows the in’s and out’s and that’s because he’s so close to both of them. 

One day he’ll break, reveal the way Renjun waxes poetic or Jeno’s yearning. But for now, he stays silent, hoping that one of them crumbles before he does. 

“You’re right,” Jeno replies with a grin. “I take pain better than you. He’ll just ink over what I already have before he moves onto someone else.” 

It’s a fitting description of their relationship; Renjun would rather re-live the same moments with Jeno for eternity than to move on with another person. It hurts him, Donghyuck knows this, but it’s love, all-encompassing, and Renjun doesn’t fall quite so quickly. 

The ink on Donghyuck’s calf aches, though not unbearably. An annoying scratch, like being carved with a ballpoint pen. Renjun dissipates the edges of the design, dotwork like sand, something so fitting for a son of the sea. 

It hurts less than the design on his ankle, The Great Wave of Kanagawa, surrounded by a blocky square frame. The lines are a little thicker, the dotwork less intricate. Renjun’s older style, something more traditional than the experimental designs he currently favours. 

Renjun lives in a constant state of metamorphosis, every press of the needle into skin a step towards his evolution. He grows, he changes, he upgrades. Soon he’ll be too big for their small town’s charms. 

He’s too good for a small shop, despite the money he rakes in for the owner. Too talented for the middle of nowhere, more suited to something more upscale and modern. But Renjun is humble, pretends he’s not one of the best. He stays because there’s an anchor keeping him grounded, and it’s seated next to him by the tattooing table. 

Once Jeno leaves, an inevitability with the way his band is going, there will be nothing left to stop Renjun from chasing after him. 

Except, maybe, for Donghyuck. 

And he hopes he’s not something wrapped around Renjun’s ankle, forcing him down. 

\------

For all his hangups in regards to his father, Donghyuck can admit one thing: he listens. 

A position on the council and a son that tags the streets is a recipe for disaster, and instead of resentment, they reach a compromise. 

Their town is filled with art, local and from outsiders who come to find their muse. It’s sold on the streets, at the markets, hung in every residence and business along the main strip. Art is the lifeblood of the small city, and Donghyuck’s dad isn’t a fool, he realises the value of it in its entirety. 

And so, the old walls by the beach become a free for all; council maintained and regulated, a space for taggers and artists alike. The only rules are that rules are made to be broken, and that everything gets painted over at the beginning of each month. 

Murals, signatures, artworks great and small. It’s not illegal to paint the walls along the beach, and so they become yet another art hub in the city. 

They’re Renjun’s favourite place to practice and his most common Instagram location. Donghyuck, too, takes photos of and with the walls, documents his work and the designs of others. Even those less artistically inclined join in on the fun, scribbles here and there, borrowed cans of paint smearing designs onto bricks. 

He’s the first person at the wall with its fresh coat of paint, a design in mind he’s had since the last refreshing of the surface wall. Sometimes the salt air corrodes at the paint, brings the art of old back to the surface, just to be drawn over once again. Donghyuck wants to paint the waves, a face the same colour peeking from between them. 

The Mother of the Sea, he’ll call it. 

Renjun will use it as the backdrop for an outfit photo at least once. 

Armed with cans of blue paint, he sets to work. Lines from one colour, blending from another. Sheets of paper to stencil, conceal and create. It takes him hours, from dimly lit sunrise to the sweltering heat of the midday sun. 

He’s asked, and not for the first time, if he has works to sell. Tourists who stop by to watch him work, wanting to take a piece of the townhome with them when they leave. He doesn’t have anything on offer, but he knows Renjun does. Directing them to the studio, he makes sure to mention his name, knowing that his friend will pass him a cut of the profit for the referral. 

He’s good like that, makes more money than he knows what to do with in a town like theirs. He’d be flat broke in the city, but with only limited places to spend his money and no rent to be paid, he’s absolutely rolling in cash. Sometimes, on occasion, he’s willing to part with it for his friend’s sake. 

Jaemin turns up at around 2pm, duffle bag ringing with the _clang_ of paint cans. He’s less of an artist and more of a poet, his pretty handwriting decorating works as he sees fit, lyrics to songs yet to be written and lines from ones that have already been sung.

_dead eyes speaking volumes_

“Jeno’s been scribbling this line on everything,” he admits, and Donghyuck admires his ability to spray in cursive. “I’m kinda obsessed with it.”

“Has he got anything else?” 

Donghyuck is probably the biggest Beyond the Martyrs’ fan, alongside Renjun, whose constant promotion is the only reason they have most of the fans that they’ve amassed. He’s always excited about new music, the talent of his friends. If they’ve got a new song in the works, Donghyuck wants to hear it first. 

“I have the song, Jeno just needs to find the right words,” Jaemin admits, finishes his piece with a flourish and a flick of his wrist. His fingers, like Donghyuck’s, are covered in paint. “He needs to fight with Renjun again, I think.” 

“Please no,” Donghyuck begs, adds the finishing flourish to his work. It’s a signature in the bottom right-hand corner, his old tag mark from high school. “The last time was awful.” 

Jeno and Renjun have this habit of getting into petty arguments about nothing, possessiveness that doesn’t belong in a friendship like theirs. Girls cuddling up to Jeno after shows, boys seeing the pride flag on Renjun’s Instagram profile and sliding into his DM’s.

They’re both petty, jealous and it’s toxic at times. It culminates in fights that have everyone involved coming out as the loser, and more sad lyrics written on Jeno’s phone.

“Speaking of awful,” Jaemin has moved to a different section of the wall, spraying more of Jeno’s lyrics onto the freshly painted surface. “What was up with Mark’s terrible flirting the other day?” 

“With who?” Donghyuck plays dumb, he knows Jaemin is talking about their little breakfast date at the cafe. 

“You,” the band’s most popular lyrics end up scrawled onto the wall, Jaemin seemingly out of ideas. “He’s been here, what, three weeks? And you’ve already got him wrapped around your finger.” 

“It’s not like that,” Donghyuck denies, though he sees it, is aware of both Mark’s and his own interest. They’re so drawn to each other, and it’s something that’s going to end terribly, this Donghyuck knows for sure. 

“He won’t shut up about you,” Jaemin says, finishing his final piece and calling it a day. “Just so you’re aware.” 

“He speaks my mind,” Donghyuck admits with a self-deprecating laugh. “Mark’s my type, you know that.” 

“Someone to love and lose,” Jaemin sighs, sits against some of the half-dried paint on the wall. He’ll have the imprint of a small wave there, later, something that Donghyuck will have to paint over again next time. “Why don’t you look for people here?” 

“Dating pool’s too shallow,” he mumbles, spraying a new line of white onto his design. “You think Renjun and Jeno would be willing to add me on as a third?” 

“Renjun probably would,” Jaemin laughs. Donghyuck loves the sound of his friend’s happiness, finds the warmth in his chest that influences his own. “You’d have to check with Jeno, though.”

“Could work,” Donghyuck shrugs. 

“I’d date you,” Jaemin folds his hands behind his head, reclines further. “I mean, in a moment of weakness, I might consider it.” 

“Appreciated.” 

Jaemin isn’t entirely serious, because Donghyuck knows his type and he for sure isn’t it. But he knows that the sentiment is there, that come twenty years time when they’re both still single and miserable, they might give it a chance. 

But for now they’re young and picky, and Donghyuck has his heart set on the fleeting, the unreachable. 

And so does Jaemin. 

\------

“I love this town, don’t get me wrong, but what exactly do you guys do around here?” 

Mark makes a valid point. He’s passed the point of tourist, moving onto the classification of semi-permanent local. Mark is like Donghyuck, now, finding the sights boring, searching instead for other things to do. 

And there isn’t much. 

It should give mark time to work on his novel, but he's young and restless, easily bored. He procrastinates, spends his time with Donghyuck amongst the waves.

"Do you like music?" Donghyuck asks. Mark's eyes light up.

"Sure," he says, trying to play it off. "What kinda bands play around here?"

"What kinda bands do you listen to?"

Metalcore, as Donghyuck fully understands, isn't the most popular of music genres. There are other musicians on the scene, older and more folk orientated, playing for tourists and couples on the boardwalk. But the Friday night shows, the fun, they all happen in the underground and the backyard gigs of the metal scene. 

“I’m really into Billie Eilish at the moment,” Mark admits, running a hand through salt-soaked hair. “But I know you guys are into heavier stuff.” 

“Yeah, it’s a thing here,” Donghyuck loops his arm through Mark’s, trips as his feet sink into the sand. It draws them closer together, a side effect that Donghyuck doesn’t mind. 

“I’m not opposed to trying it out,” Mark says. He’s got a hand resting on Donghyuck’s forearm where they’re linked, stumbling through the sand. “I mean, that’s what this trip is about. New experiences and all that.” 

Donghyuck snorts. “You gonna make one of your mermaids a metalhead?” he teases, uses his free hand to jab at Mark’s stomach. He doesn’t withdraw his hand once he’s done, leaving them a tangle of arms and legs as they wander along the shore. 

“Probably not,” Mark’s nose scrunches. “I was thinking that her love interest should be a surfer, though.” 

“Cliche,” Donghyuck chides. 

“Two people brought together by their love for the ocean,” Mark’s smile is soft, despite Donghyuck’s teasing. “It’s cliche, but it works, I think.”

Donghyuck ignores how similar the story Mark writes is to the story that Mark lives. There’s a pounding in his chest, but he ignores that, too, casting his gaze out onto the waves.

“Oceanic Romeo and Juliette,” Donghyuck untangles himself from Mark to clutch at his own chest. “Star crossed heterosexuality, but make it wet.” 

“Who said the surfer is a boy?” Mark smirks at him. He steps closer to Donghyuck, rests his hands on his hips. “And who said that I’ll give them an unhappy ending?” 

“I’d like to see how you pull that off.”

Donghyuck can’t help himself as he wraps his arms around Mark’s neck. It’s the perfect setting for a first kiss: an abandoned beach, the setting sun. The fleeting nature of their possible romance hangs between them, but Donghyuck, despite his flirting, is still unwilling to take the dive. 

“I did promise you a copy,” Mark breathes, his eyes lingering on Donghyuck’s lips. “You’ll just have to see for yourself.” 

“I can’t wait,” Donghyuck replies. The moment is palpable but he breaks it, stepping out of Mark’s hold and edging towards the shore. “Wanna swim?” 

“Now?” 

“Why not?” 

Donghyuck takes off his shirt, throws it to the sand at his feet. With a questioning raise of his eyebrow, he holds a hand out for Mark to take. “You coming?” he asks. 

Mark doesn’t reply. 

He takes Donghyuck’s outstretched hand and runs.

\------

“Is that your art by the seawall?” 

His mother is in a good mood. She usually is, but for the past few months, it’s been dampened by whatever cocktail of medication the oncologist has suggested. They keep her alive but drain the life from her at the same time. 

It’s hard to watch. 

“Yeah,” Donghyuck raids the refrigerator for leftover food. There’s a plate, covered in cling film, sitting at the front of one of the shelves. “Do you like it?” 

“I love it,” she smiles. Her lips are dry and cracking, it must be painful but she chooses to be happy through her discomfort. “Your father took me for a walk, earlier. Along the beach.” 

“Is that so?” Donghyuck digs into his food cold, doesn’t bother to reheat the leftovers in the microwave. 

“I didn’t recognise the boy you were with.” 

“He’s just passing through,” Donghyuck mumbles, trying to shrug off her line of questioning. “And he’s just a friend.” 

His mother smiles knowingly. “I know you, baby. That spot is special to you, and you’re not gonna share it with just anyone.” 

“Has dad greenlit the festival?” Donghyuck changes the topic. “Or at least brought it up to the council?” 

Some of the older guys in the local scene have had an idea; a pseudo music festival held in a suburban park. It’s honestly just an excuse to get drunk and play music, somewhere with a little more room than the clubs and backyards they’re used to performing in. 

Free for all, BYO, the only rules are those unspoken in the moshpit. 

“They’re fine-tuning the details, but I don’t think they’ve got a problem with it,” she smiles, hobbles to the fridge for a glass of water. “But maybe you should ask your dad about it?” 

“He doesn’t want to talk to me,” Donghyuck says to his noodles. He can’t bear to look his mother in the eye. Even when she’s sick she’s playing messenger between them, passing on information that would be easy enough to communicate without her. 

“Your father loves you, Donghyuck.” 

He blinks back his tears, inhales, re-wraps his food and places it back into the fridge. 

“It doesn’t feel like it,” he says, before he steps out into the hall. 

He bumps into his father there, doesn’t raise his eyes from the floor as he apologises. 

He’s not met with a reply.

\------

Summer is the ideal season for surfing, but it’s often hindered by perpetual storms. Only an idiot would face the waves in the midst of a storm and Donghyuck knows from experience how awful the swell is when the rains begin. 

He sighs into the empty store, tourists and locals alike seeking shelter in cafes instead of strolling along the boardwalk, leaving Donghyuck with nothing to do and no one to talk to. 

Rain is the death of stores like his, with no one willing to face the weather or the monstrous swell brought on by summer storms. 

The internet also suffers during the terrible weather; Donghyuck’s phone, till system and card reader are all down for the count, reception as waterlogged as the outside world. In a moment of luck, he manages to get through to the store owner, who allows him to close up early for the day. 

Someone slips through the front door as Donghyuck finalises his closing chores. The day’s meagre earnings already locked into the store safe, he’s ready to shoo the customer away and wander through the rainy streets before heading home. 

“Perfect timing,” Mark says. He’s damp despite his umbrella, his presence like sunshine appearing through clouds. “I was wondering if you wanted to hang out?” 

“I’d ask how you know where I work,” Donghyuck says with a sigh, grabbing his backpack from beneath the till. “But I know the answer is Renjun.” 

“Jaemin, actually,” Mark smiles at him so genuinely. “He said you usually close up early on rainy days.” 

“No one wants to surf in a storm,” Donghyuck shrugs. He acts nonchalant but his hands shake with nerves. “So I usually get an early mark when the weather is shit.” 

“Like I said, perfect timing,” Mark holds his umbrella over Donghyuck’s head as he locks the front door of the shop. “I have something to show you.” 

“No offence,” Donghyuck says, their hands brushing as they walk side by side under the protection of Mark’s trusty umbrella. It’s not quite big enough for the two of them, but he finds that the close proximity and Mark’s perpetual warmth isn’t that much of a bother. “But there’s nothing about this town that I don’t know about.” 

“It’s here, but it’s not from here,” Mark’s reply is cryptic, delivered with a smile. He takes Donghyuck’s hand in his own and Donghyuck lets him. “You’ll see what I mean when we get there.” 

Mark leads Donghyuck to the tourist trap of a beach, but bypasses the shoreline in favour of the local carpark. Secluded, hidden by trees. Donghyuck is well acquainted with the area and its reputation as a hookup spot. 

He raises an eyebrow in Mark’s direction. 

“Not too much further,” he says, either oblivious to the carpark’s alternative usage or ignoring the implication completely. “Here,” Mark gestures at an old model Volkswagen, faded blue, artistically vintage. “This is my baby.” 

“Oh, this is too much,” Donghyuck breaks into a laugh. “You’re soul searching in a combi?” 

“The price and the stereotype were too much to pass up,” Mark hands him the umbrella while fiddling with the lock on the rear doors. “Besides, I’ve altered it a little.” 

Mark, as it turns out, doesn’t have permanent accommodation. At least, not in the way that most people do. He does everything from the back of his van: eats and sleeps there, showers at the beach, frequents the local laundromat. 

It’s cute, in a way. The masses of bedding look cosy and well kept, and the ambience provided by the string of fairy lights along the windows is a nice touch. Mark ushers him inside, but keeps his distance, fidgeting nervously in the following silence. 

“What are we doing here, Mark?” Donghyuck asks. He reclines back into the pile of blankets, makes himself at home. 

“I thought it would be nice to, like, watch the rain? And maybe chat a little bit?” 

“You’re trying to gain access to the level five friendship perks, aren’t you?” Donghyuck reaches over to swat playfully at his knee. 

“Not yet,” Mark flicks his fingers as they rest against his leg. “I’ll let you decide when I’m allowed to level up. Talk to me about this metalcore shit you guys are all into, or something.” 

“You’re actually interested?” Donghyuck’s surprise is genuine. He’ll talk for hours about music if he can, and if Mark wants to listen he’s happy to oblige him. 

“Sure, hit me,” Mark shrugs. “Let’s listen to your shitty music, watch the rain and hold hands like a couple of teenagers.” He reaches over, threads his fingers through Donghyuck’s own. “Sounds like the perfect date to me.” 

“Date?” Donghyuck ignores the jab at his music taste and focuses on more important things.

“Yeah,” Mark breathes, his hold on Donghyuck’s hand tightening. “Now, c’mon, show me something I’d like.” 

“Sure,” Donghyuck fumbles for his phone, one-handedly opening his music app and selecting the first thing that comes to mind. 

Mark taps his foot to the rhythm of the double kick. 

Donghyuck feels like he’s drowning.


	3. We've Been Running Blind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Level Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to Lana Del Rey's new album while writing this. I feel like that explains a lot.

There isn’t much to do during the rainy season. The others have their hobbies; Renjun draws and designs, Jeno and Jaemin sit in a garage or the local recording studio and make as much music as they can. 

Donghyuck is a summer baby, a child of the sun. He needs to be outside, away from the suffocating indoors, in order to feel alive. 

It means he hates the rain, for no other reason than it _bores_ him. The swells too big, the pathways too wet to traverse on his board. Spray paint doesn’t stick to wet walls and so Donghyuck, bored out of his mind, is stuck inside. 

He hasn’t had much reprieve during previous storms, but Mark comes in like sunshine through the clouds and whisks him away from the monotony. 

The local mall is nothing exciting; generic clothing chains, grocery stores, a place that sells a small selection of overpriced musical instruments. Jeno and Jaemin order most of their gear online, but the store still means a lot to them, the place where they fell in love with the sound of a guitar. 

Mark, however, is more interested in the mall’s bottom floor. There’s a small library there, and while the Wi-Fi is terrible, it _is_ free. Dongyhyuck finds himself curled up on the floor next to him, perched on old beanbags and re-reading the comics he devoured during high school. 

It’s empty, their only company the sound of rain on the roof and the occasional passing of the old librarian as she returns books to their rightful places on shelves. 

Much to Donghyuck’s surprise, Mark is _writing_. The rain inspires him, or so he says. The clicking of his keys a staccato rhythm, beating out of time against Mark’s writing playlist as it’s shared on earphones that thread between them. 

He won’t let Donghyuck read what he’s writing, claiming it’s still rough and that he’s embarrassed about it. But Mark seems to be making good progress, his fingers flying over the keys at rapid speeds and barely pausing. 

The rain makes Donghyuck feel lethargic, the cacophony of sounds weighing down his eyelids as he begins to drift off into a much-needed nap. Pausing his work, Donghyuck feels Mark’s fingers in his hair as he cushions his head on a spare beanbag, spread out across the library floor. 

“You sleepy?” Mark asks, threading his fingers through one of Donghyuck’s curls. 

Donghyuck hums in response, snuggling deeper into the beanbag. Mark’s fingertips trace along the bridge of his nose, before tapping lightly on the tip. 

“You can’t sleep here,” he chides. Donghyuck’s eyes remain closed, but he registers the sound of Mark’s laptop closing, the rustling of his belongings. “C’mon, let’s go nap in the van.” 

Donghyuck groans as he’s shifted, Mark’s hand around his hand and tugging him into a sitting position. Rubbing his eyes sleepily, he fixes Mark with a tired glare. 

“I could go home and nap, you know,” he says. Mark’s van is further away, requires more time spent in the rain and humidity before sleep can come. 

“Yeah,” Mark looks away, ears red and smile sheepish. “But I wanted to nap with you?” 

“Cute,” Donghyuck hums. He’ll summon the energy from _somewhere_, make it through the damp streets in order to overheat in Mark’s shitty van. Tired Donghyuck is a cuddle monster, and if Mark is offering then he’s not one to deny him. 

He’ll put up with the inconvenience and the discomfort because Mark is there, because Donghyuck wants nothing more than to be with him for as long as possible. 

It holds implications that he’d rather not think about, feelings that he knows are reciprocated in the most terrifying of ways. 

Mark is so different from those who have come before him. Donghyuck loves them and leaves them, doesn’t stick around long enough to grow attached. But Mark is so refreshing— Donghyuck lets him hold his hand, place gentle kisses along his clothed shoulder as they cuddle in the back of his van. 

“What level am I on now?” Mark asks, his lips dragging along Donghyuck’s neck. “Have I levelled up?” 

“You wanna know about me that bad?” Donghyuck sits up. He’s hardly sleepy anymore, what with the way that Mark can’t keep his hands to himself. Innocent, yet maddening touches that Donghyuck can’t help but reciprocate. 

“Of course I do,” the pressure of Mark’s lips increase for just a second, lips parting to suck lightly on Donghyuck’s collarbone. “You fascinate me.” 

“You’re unbelievable,” Donghyuck says in reply. He could mention that Mark has surpassed all levels, is beating at Donghyuck’s walls like the ocean on rocks during a storm. 

Mark is a cyclone, and he’ll leave wreckage in his wake. 

“Tell me to back off,” Mark pauses, but doesn’t take his hands from their place on Donghyuck’s waist. “I’ll fall for you if you don’t.” 

“It’s a terrible idea,” surrounded by blankets and illuminated by twinkling fairy lights, Donghyuck feels a weight in his chest as Mark stares at him, full of hope. “But maybe we should jump, together?” 

Mark is nothing like the others, and that terrifies him. 

“I’ve thought of an analogy for this,” Mark gestures between them, “it’s like we’re going cliff-diving.” 

“Fun during the fall, potential death at the end if we jump wrong,” Donghyuck laughs, ruins the mood by flicking Mark’s forehead. “Are all writers this dramatic, or is it just you?” 

“Find out for yourself,” Mark rests his head on Donghyuck’s chest, smiling lightly. 

Donghyuck kisses his hair, dives headfirst into the waters below. 

He’s done fighting. 

Donghyuck can’t keep away from the complications of Mark, and at this point, he’s not sure he wants to anymore.

\------

The ocean is home to so many wonderful hobbies and activities. Donghyuck wouldn’t leave the water if he didn’t have to, a mermaid in spirit, one with the sea. He’ll do anything to get off the land and back to his home. 

Anything except fishing. 

It’s not the action itself that Donghyuck hates— it’s calming, out past the waves. It’s sunny and warm and salt-encrusted. He can think, relax and just focus on nothing. Fishing is calming, and he really, _really_ doesn’t mind it. 

The issue is the company. His friends aren’t the relaxing type, always with somewhere to go and something to do. They don’t appreciate the tranquillity of the open waters, desperately searching for white noise to fill the void. 

When Donghyuck fishes, it’s with his father. Full days spent on a small, tin boat. Close proximity and no one’s company but their own. To Donghyuck, fishing is a personal brand of hell. In fact, it’s what he believes hell will be: an eternity alone with his father, painful silence and disapproving stares. 

He’s accosted at the front door, surfboard in hand. His father, dressed in his usual fishing attire, gestures wordlessly for Donghyuck to dress the same. Less of an invitation, more of a demand. Donghyuck replaces his surfboard and glances longingly at the waves as he passes them by. 

The ride to the jetty is silent. The process of deploying the boat happens with only nonverbal communication, years of familiarity and muscle memory allowing them to work wordlessly and in tandem. 

Even once out in the open waters, not a single word is spoken. It’s just Donghyuck, his father and the gentle lapping of water against tin. 

There are a lot of things that Donghyuck doesn’t understand about his father. His love of fishing is just one of them. The fish they catch aren’t even kept— his whole family are vegetarians, so any poor soul that ends up in the boat are admired and then released. 

Trauma and struggle for a moment of self-satisfaction, before the fish is relieved of the surface world and the process begins anew. It makes more sense to stare out into the endless ocean for that sense of tranquillity, rather than to engage in such senseless and unrewarding activities. 

At least when Donghyuck surfs he has a purpose; to feel the thrill, to be one with the waves. Surfing is as fun as it is cathartic, and he doesn’t understand why his father is the one with the more _respectable_ hobby.

Never mind the surfers who built the town from the ground up, the fishing industry nearly non-existent due to the peaceful priorities of the people who call it their home. No one wants to see the shoreline marred by docks and commercial fishermen, letting the next town over deal with the industry in their stead. 

Fishing is pointless. Spending time with his father even more so. Donghyuck would rather have his morning surf, followed by a day spent bothering his friends at work. 

“I’m sure even you’ve noticed by now,” Donghyuck’s father speaks, breaking a near two-hour-long stretch of silence. “But your mother isn’t doing so well.” 

Jab at his emotional distancing aside, Donghyuck _has_ noticed. It’s hard not to. Skeletal and pale, impossibly weak. His mother has always tried to live a normal life while undergoing her treatment, but the physical toll has been too much for her of late. 

Rarely seen away from the couch or out of the bed, Donghyuck watches as the life drains from his mother’s form, trying his hardest to look away. 

“Has the doctor said anything?” Donghyuck asks. His parents never tell him anything. Donghyuck was with his mother when she heard the news of her illness, and he’s certain that it would have taken months for them to break the news if given the option to. 

The best thing to do is ask, because the only thing his parents do is withhold the truth. 

“The tumour has shrunk, but her body can’t handle the treatment,” he casts his line into the water, something to focus his attention on that isn’t Donghyuck. “If they reduce her chemotherapy dose, then it might not be as effective. But if they keep going the way they are, they might introduce bigger problems in the long run.” 

The drugs have stripped her bald and turned her bones to dust. Barely able to stomach food, she’s wasting away, attacked by both the illness that ails her and the poison she needs to treat it. 

“What is she going to do?” 

She. Not they. Donghyuck’s mother has full autonomy, her decision is law. 

“You know your mother,” his father laughs, hollow and broken. “She’s going to keep going, no matter how hard it gets.” 

“She’s like that,” Donghyuck agrees. It’s just one of many things that he admires about her. The resilience, the determination. It hasn’t been hereditary, so he’s in awe of her strength. 

He always has been. 

“I don’t want her to go,” his father admits, a rare admission of momentary weakness. He’s as strong as his wife— the two of them a combined force that’s borderline unbreakable. 

“Neither do I.” 

“I don’t know what I’d do, if I was left with just you…” 

Donghyuck doesn’t know what breaks him more: the uncharacteristic sobs of his father, or the confirmation that he’s as unwanted as he feels. Blinking back tears, Donghyuck hears the telltale _plonk_ of a sunken lure. 

Something’s on the hook. A fish to be caught, admired, then tossed away. 

It’s a wonderful metaphor for their relationship: performative, nonsensical and at the end of it all, completely futile. 

\------- 

Mark infiltrates Donghyuck’s life without him even noticing. Where four skateboards once lined the old seawall, there now sit five. He’s added to Instagram stories without introduction or preamble, the only mention of his previous absence found in Mark’s lack of account. 

Renjun’s followers are obsessed, something he notes with a laugh and several screenshots passed around with a cigarette as they watch the sunset. Mark is attractive, mysterious, appears out of what seems to be nowhere. An enigma, yet with an air of familiarity. 

Mark tosses Jaemin into the ocean fully clothed, just like the rest of them do. He bothers Renjun at work, gets a helix piercing out of boredom, helps Jeno test his levels. The blank canvas of Mark’s left arm becomes a sketchbook, the beginnings of a half sleeve inked onto the skin. 

He’s only just arrived, but it feels like he’s been with them the whole time. It has Donghyuck thinking about his inevitable departure, and whether he’ll disappear from their lives as seamlessly as he arrived. 

“Just make a fucking Instagram, Mark,” Renjun huffs on a particularly hot afternoon. He photographs their matching cups of gelato, applies a filter and hits post. “I can’t tag you as the heathen who likes liquorice.” 

Mark dips his biodegradable spoon into the offending gelato, sucks the treat into his mouth around a sly grin. “No,” he says as Jeno fakes a gag. “What would I even post, anyway?” 

“You’re a travelling author,” Jaemin shrugs. His own cup holds a less offensive flavouring of raspberry. “So post about travelling and author-ing.” 

“Free book promo,” Jeno adds. 

“Just document what you love,” Renjun says with a shrug, watching as the likes roll in. “It’s worked out pretty well for me.” 

Donghyuck doesn’t miss the glance that Mark sends his direction. Judging by his amused snort, neither does Jaemin. 

“The people of Instagram have both physical and hypothetical hard on’s for poetic captions,” he says, pointing his spoon at Mark. “Just flex your pretentious author skills and they’re gonna eat it up.” 

“Jaemin captions his pictures with song lyrics,” Donghyuck stage whispers. The resulting shove nearly sends him tumbling off the wall. “Don’t get mad at me for telling the truth!” 

“Your captions are all emojis,” Jaemin grumbles, trying to save face. He pouts, before offering some of his gelato to Renjun. “You have no right to mock me.” 

“Sometimes the best-spoken words are the ones left unsaid,” Donghyuck fakes an overdramatic sigh. “And if I see even _one_ of you using that as a caption, I’m ending our friendship.” 

“You wouldn’t,” Jeno calls his bluff. He’s right and he knows he is. Because Jeno has known him for what seems like forever, and Donghyuck has never once followed through on his threats. 

Mark taps away on his phone as they bicker amongst themselves. Donghyuck barely notices when the device is aimed in his direction, capturing his laugh as it’s framed by the setting sun. 

“Sometimes the best-spoken words are the ones left unsaid,” Mark repeats with a grin. He turns the screen to face them, Donghyuck’s picture gracing a brand-new Instagram account. He spots the obnoxious caption, leans over a snickering Jeno to playfully bat at Mark’s outstretched hand. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Donghyuck says. He immediately notes Mark’s username, follows the account. Renjun starts his tedious task of tagging his Mark-filled backlog. 

_Just document what you love._

Donghyuck doesn’t miss the way Mark’s account is born from Renjun’s suggestion. He sees the candid photograph and knows it won’t be the last. 

Waves lap at the seawall as Mark’s follower count begins to rise. 

“I’m kinda jealous,” Donghyuck admits later, peering over Mark’s shoulders at the comments and messages as he scrolls through them. “You’re super popular.” 

“Renjun gave me this image that I’m not sure I’ll live up to,” Mark snaps a picture of the lighthouse in the distance, blurry due to the terrible lighting. He’ll post it anyway.

“Perception is rarely better than reality,” Donghyuck nods sagely. Mark repeats his words as a caption. “Hey now, stop stealing my pseudo-inspirational quotes.” 

“Then stop being my muse.” 

Donghyuck stops in his tracks, overwhelmed by the urge to kiss Mark until he’s breathless, right there on the sidewalk. 

“You need to find a better muse,” he says, instead, brushing past Mark as they continue along the abandoned and dimly lit road. 

He’s tagged in the picture, a blurry outline obscured by the darkness. It looks like some sort of aesthetic picture post, one paired well with melancholy quotes about fleeting youth. 

An artist, even when he isn’t trying to be. Documenting what he loves, what inspires him— a pictorial ode to the time he spends with Donghyuck. 

He’s being pulled in by Mark’s riptide. 

Soon he’ll be too far gone to even see the shore.

\------ 

A Barquentine is a ship with three or more masts, according to the official definition. But the lexicons of old don’t revolve around Donghyuck’s hometown, because in their ocean, it has a completely different meaning. 

Barquentine is a band. A group of local heroes. Five men at the forefront of the metalcore scene— the first, the original, the best. 

Their foundation is an inspiration to the ambitious youth. Their continuing prosperity driving the fame-hungry forward, marching in unison to the beat of the double kick. They’ve long since outgrown the small-town scene, so when they return home it’s cause for celebration. 

“You’re welcome,” Renjun says. He fiddles with his tattoo gun, waiting for Jaemin to calm down. He’s practically hyperventilating in his excitement, words and sentences melting together, unintelligible. “I know a guy who knows their bassist, so I got him to put in a word.” 

Barquentine are returning home for the first time in five years, in order to headline the free festival in but a few weeks’ time. A last-minute addition, but a very welcome one. Donghyuck and his friends were too young for their previous concert, but now they’re about to see their heroes live. 

_We want to give back to the community that raised us_, says a spokesperson through the band’s official Instagram account. _And we’re dying to see the bands that have come after us._

That means Beyond the Martyrs, who have managed to land a thirty-minute spot on the roster. 

“They’re gonna watch us play,” Jaemin wheezes. His phone vibrates in his hand, their band chat alive with a flurry of notifications. “Chenle stopped breathing for a second there, apparently.” 

“So did you,” Renjun points out with a sigh, obviously eager to get back to the half-finished floral piece on Jaemin’s ribs. 

“I think I’m dreaming,” Donghyuck says, breathless. “I never thought they’d come home.” 

“The city changes you,” Jaemin says, “but have you heard their newest album? It’s a change for the better.” 

“Don’t you literally know one of them?” Renjun is unimpressed by fame and perceived importance. He taps the pedal of his machine, indicating to Jaemin that it’s time to stop panicking and time to start breathing. 

“Yeah, but like, before he was famous,” Jaemin winces slightly as the gun passes over bone. 

Jung Jaehyun, the lead guitarist of Barquentine, once made his money by offering lessons to kids. Jaemin was one of them, Jeno another. The new generation of metalcore raised by one of the founders. 

It’s been years, and it’s unlikely that Jaehyun will remember his former students. But Donghyuck knows that Jaemin hopes, desperately clings to the idea of validation from his hero. 

“We have to take Mark,” Donghyuck says. Jaemin hisses as Renjun’s needle digs deep. “He needs to see what this scene is all about.” 

“He’d follow you anywhere,” Renjun snorts, eyes focused on his task. “I think our Markie has a widdle cwush.” 

“On Donghyuck?” Jaemin laughs. Renjun predicts the mirth and removes the gun accordingly. “_Please_.” 

“You’ve said it yourself,” Donghyuck replies, unsure why he’s feeling so defensive. “He doesn’t shut up about me.” 

“I thought you’d fuck once and leave it at that, if I’m honest.” 

“Well, we haven’t,” Donghyuck huffs, “we’re friends. I’m capable of befriending people without trying to seduce them.” 

“It’s just…” Jaemin trails off, turning his head to face the wall, observing Renjun’s art with distracted, disinterested eyes. “That’s not what you usually do.” 

Donghyuck knows that. Knows how odd his actions must seem to the others. But he can’t explain what he’s feeling, can’t quite find the words to encapsulate Mark and everything he means. 

“It looks like Mark isn’t the only one with a crush,” Renjun mutters.

The rest of the session passes with painful, awkward silence. 

\------ 

Donghyuck doesn’t love his job. He doesn’t think he’ll ever love working, if he’s completely honest. It’s a means to an end, a necessity. He works so he can buy new boards and spend time with his friends. There isn’t a job in the world that interests him, so Donghyuck does the bare minimum and knows he’ll get by. 

Mark has taken a liking to surprise visits, joining the tradition of his friend group and their love of bothering each other while they’re supposed to be working. Armed with coffee and whatever snack he’s managed to steal, Mark spends his afternoons lazing around with Donghyuck once his shift ends. 

He’s more bored than he usually is, the lack of customers meaning there’s very little to do in the shop. Nothing to clean, nothing to fold, no one to help. Mark makes the slow drag of the afternoon go a little faster with his company and conversation. 

“I should probably buy something,” he says, running his fingers down a rack of skinny jeans. “Help you meet your sales target or whatever.” 

Donghyuck’s workplace is just a physical storefront. They sell a lot of goods online, the only local stockists of trendy, expensive brands that Renjun approves of. They’ve also got the surf school as an add on, so the owner really doesn’t care what Donghyuck does or doesn’t sell during his twenty-hour workweek. 

“Try some shit on,” Donghyuck shrugs, walking around the counter to join Mark on the shop floor. 

“Join me?” Mark holds out a cherry printed bowling shirt worth a full day’s wages. “You’d look cute in this.” 

Donghyuck hates the way his heart skips a beat. 

Afternoon shifts tend to drag on, but Mark’s impromptu fashion show makes it worth the monotony. He looks ridiculous in some outfits, incredible in others. They make a mess of the store, trying on everything within their size range. 

They match, on occasion, oversized sweaters too warm for their climate, made bearable by the air conditioning that thankfully decides to work that day. 

Mark slings an arm around Donghyuck’s shoulder, posing them in the changing room mirror as he snaps photos of their coordination, fresh pictures for his Instagram feed. 

“Wait,” Mark says, juggling his phone as he moves Donghyuck into position. “Maybe like this?” 

He pulls Donghyuck closer, smiles against his neck. He’s glad that the picture turns out blurry, because the incriminating image documents his expression, like Mark was the one who hung the stars in the sky. 

“I need a wardrobe overhaul,” Mark says, later, as he’s placing a select few items on the counter. Most notably, he’s buying the sweater that matches Donghyuck’s own. 

“If you keep spending your money, you won’t be able to leave,” Donghyuck jokes, scanning each piece until his till reaches a ridiculous total. 

“I don’t mind,” Mark shrugs, forgoing a store bag and stuffing his purchases into his backpack. “I’ll stay here as long as I need to.” 

“You got an ETA for me, though?” Donghyuck leans over the counter, peering at Mark. 

“This place is starting to feel like home,” Mark says simply. 

It fills Donghyuck with hope so terrible. 

Mark is a wandering soul, the tide in human form. He may have a home, but Donghyuck knows he’ll leave it eventually. 

Leave _him_ eventually.

Because if Mark is the tide, then he is the shore. Stubborn, stagnant and always waiting for the waves to come crashing home.

\------ 

Jaemin hasn’t joined Donghyuck for a morning surf in years. Which is why his appearance at Donghyuck’s door comes as a surprise, though not an unpleasant one. 

“I thought I’d join you,” he says by way of explanation. “I keep hearing how good the surf has been, so I wanted to check it out.” 

“You’re gonna wipe,” Donghyuck laughs, heading towards his usual spot with Jaemin hot on his heels. 

The swell is near perfect when they arrive. Donghyuck half expects to see Mark, already out in the waves, but Jaemin’s presence means that he’s covering the opening shift along with Jeno. It’s just the two of them in their usual spot, and it’s nostalgic almost to the point of pain. 

High school memories, sneaking out before class and spending the rest of the day salt-soaked and sleepy. Things were simpler, then. Donghyuck wishes he could return to that level of simplicity, while keeping his adult freedoms with him as he goes. 

A wish that can’t be granted, but in a moment that lets him believe that it can. 

Predictably, Jaemin is terrible. Unsteady on his feet until the last half hour of their session, when his muscle memory finally remembers how to stand on a board. Jaemin manages a few good runs just before they head in, smiling wider than Donghyuck has ever seen. 

“I should do that more often,” he says, digging his board into the sand and collapsing beside it. 

“Definitely,” Donghyuck joins him, shoulders brushing as they watch the last of the dawn fading away. 

“Ah, but if I’m here then Mark can’t be,” he nudges Donghyuck with his elbow. “It’s me or him, Hyuck.”

“Don’t make me choose,” Donghyuck laughs, carefree. His smile falls when he notices that Jaemin isn’t laughing along with him, mouth set into a hard line. 

“You must like him a lot,” he says quietly. “If you can’t choose between us.” 

“It’s not like that,” Donghyuck cuddles into Jaemin’s side, resting his head on his shoulder. “You’re my best friend.” 

“Therefore, the choice should be easy,” Jaemin wraps an arm around Donghyuck’s waist, pulling him into a hug. “But you can’t choose, because I’m your best friend but Mark is something _more_.” 

“I don’t want him to be more,” Donghyuck admits. 

He doesn’t elaborate, because Jaemin knows him so well. It’s nothing against Mark, but everything against their time limit together. Mark will move on and Donghyuck will stay. A simple recipe for disaster— love, but only within a timeframe. 

“I know you don’t,” Jaemin says quietly, fiddling with the zipper of Donghyuck’s wetsuit. 

“I should have fallen for you instead,” Donghyuck finds comfort in the embrace of his old friend. "It would have made my life so much easier."

Loving Jaemin would be so simple to do. Best friends turned something more, a lifetime of understanding between them. Jaemin might leave at some point, touring with the band as they find success. But he’ll always return home, and that’s something that Donghyuck is sure of. 

Donghyuck’s heart is treacherous, traitorous, wants only what it can’t have when what it should want is right beside him. Jaemin is everything that Donghyuck secretly searches for, yet he can’t find it within himself to blur that line between friends and lovers. 

And he doesn’t think he ever will. 

Jaemin exhales shakily, his free hand curling into a fist in the sand. 

“Yeah,” he breathes. “It would have been.”

Donghyuck doesn't know why he sounds so broken.

**Author's Note:**

> Complain about my terrible uploading schedule on [twitter](https://twitter.com/pharmarkcy)


End file.
